


Coyote High

by Entropyrose



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Punisher (Comics), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Dirty Thoughts, M/M, Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: 17-year old Frank isnt exactly thrilled to be assigned a tutor 3 years his junior. He is both pleasantly surprised and intrigued when he discovers he has so much in common with the shy redhead. His feelings for the boy develop rapidly, fueled by Frank's hormone-driven daydreams. But does Matt feel the same?Or, if Frank and Matt met in high school





	Coyote High

**Author's Note:**

> The characters in this fic are underage. While they do not have penatrative sex, there are graphic depictions of sex acts within the fic as well as making out and nipple play. You have been warned. Negative Comments pertaining to the underage status of this fic will be ignored and deleted. You have been warned!

Unease twists in Frankie's gut as he stares down the little yellow house with the perfectly trimmed lawn. The principle hadn't given him a choice--it was either this or face being expelled. Frank could have given a shit less about graduating or being forced to repeat a grade, but if the shiner his Dad had given him last night is any indication, there is really no choice at all. 

The kid who answers the door looks familiar enough, but it's damn obvious from his looks alone they don't hang with the same crowd. From his crisp white collar all the way down to his polished brown shoes, the redhead’s a prep. Frank’s lip curls. 

The kid's name is Matt. He says he's a senior too, but he's easily two or three years younger than Frankie and scrawny to boot. Though, Frankie supposes, that's not a totally fair assessment. Frankie is closing in on eighteen and he's at least a head taller than everyone else. Still, the kid’s got the handshake of someone twice his size. If he is a dork, he's probably had a couple of self-defense classes to keep his head out of the locker room toilets. 

He doesn't take shit. He blasts Frankie for “forgetting" his books, asks him if he's even serious about graduating this year. Frankie’s eyes narrow. Just who does the little asshole think he is?

It's not until the kid named Matt half drags him to the kitchen table and pulls out his copies that Frank realizes why the redhead's wearing glasses. His books, which he claims are “exactly the same texts” as Frankie’s, are thick white pages with raised bumps on them. Clearly irritated, the kid mutters that Frank’ll just have to do his best to follow along and take notes. He plucks a chewed up pencil and a half-used shopping list pad from the center island and pushes them towards Frank with a huff. 

The second day, Frankie brings his own books. He escaped another run-in with his Dad--the bastard was passed out drunk when Frankie got home from Matt’s house. Frankie decides that if it saves him from having the shit beat out of him every night, this “tutoring” thing might not be so bad after all. Might as well put in the effort while he's biding his time. (Seven p.m. is pretty good, eight is ideal. His Dad usually starts fading after the 13th Bud Light.)

It's somewhere in between Physics 201 and Applied Mathematics when Frankie decides that this Matt kid is actually kind of cute. Being that Matt can't “see” him, he feels free to take his time checking him out while Matt is “helping” him find the square root of x. 

His reddish brown hair falls just past his eyebrows and with his head tilted downward like that, his glasses drooping forward to rest on the bridge of his nose, his mysterious dark eyes flash beneath thick eyelashes. 

Frank feels himself getting hard as he studies his face, sweeping his tongue out over his lips and imagining what that feathery red mane would look like bobbing up and down on his….

Frank is startled when Matt’s eyes meet his dead-on and he snaps, “You listening or what?”

Frank nods, forgetting for a moment the kid’s sightlessness in light of his scary accuracy, and corrects himself a moment later, grumbling a distracted, unconvincing “Yeah.”

The third day, thanks to his tutor, Frank is caught up on his homework and already feeling his brain starting to melt out of his ears. Frank's not stupid---he’s been behind before and has caught up on his own, he's just had to stop getting suspended. And that's hard to do when there's so many asshole bullies out there who deserve Frank's fist in their teeth. 

As Frank debates begging to be released from the torture of studying for yet another quiz, Matt pipes up suddenly and asks his Mom for the keys to the garage. 

Frank raises an eyebrow as Matt flashes an excited, toothy smile. “Wanna see something cool?”

Frank grins back at him. Hell yeah he does. 

The “garage” is actually an aluminum shed about a hundred feet from the back deck, partially hidden in an overgrowth of weeds and wildflowers. The key goes to a rusted padlock that Matt has to bang on a few times to get open. 

Inside, the smell of decades of must greets them. Even though its mid-day, the slice of sun through the open doorway does nothing to illuminate the inside. Matt feels along the wall and hits a switch, and one by one old light fixtures flicker to life. 

It's a fighting ring, like the kind professional boxers use. The shed’s interior is practically wallpapered with newspaper clippings, championship flyers and old photographs. Above one section, emblazoned in blue, is a banner yellowed with age. It reads, “Battlin’ Jack Murdock.” Frankie’s jaw practically hits the floor. 

It seems there is more to the scrawny little redhead with the dark glasses and the secretive grin. At least the mystery of that powerful handshake is now solved--Battlin’ Jack Murdock was one of Frankie’s very first heroes, and it stands to reason he'd pass that astounding agility and strength on to his son. 

Matt steps into the ring as if he belongs there, bouncing left and right and making jabs into the air at an invisible opponent. “Well?” He calls down to Frank. “We gonna spar or what?”

He sizes up the much shorter, much skinnier kid but doesn't hesitate for long. Frankie isn't one to turn down a challenge. He carefully removes his thick, oversized hoodie and lays it down on the floor before scrambling up after him. He is halfway through deciding he's going to take it easy on him--pull his punches and fain injury, maybe let the kids land a few hits so he feels he's doing well---when a blow lands in his stomach like a thunderbolt, effectively knocking him off his feet. 

Okay, so going gentle isn't going to be necessary. 

Frankie’s never fought for fun before. Before this, he's only ever raised his fists in defense or to teach a bully a lesson. It's so different to be using his moves for the sheer pleasure of it. It thrills him. Matt has some incredible skill---not surprising for the son of a boxing legend---and Frankie is mesmerized by his grace and fluidity among the chaos. It's like watching a ballet dancer balance live grenades. 

They spar until their arms hurt and their faces are red, all the while beaming with the thrill of it all. Matt calls Time Out and retreats to his side of the ring to shed his sweater. Frank catches a peek of delicate, milky-white skin and that slender waist as Matt peels it off over his head. He knows he should feel guilty for looking, but he can't bring himself to tear his gaze away. 

With his pulse pounding in his ears and his breath quickening, he feels his dick begin to throb once more. Over some dorky blind waif? Really?, He chastises himself. Before he can think any further on it, Matt is coming back to the center of the ring, beckoning for them to continue. Frank gladly obliges.

Frank goes home that night with a few fresh bruises and, though he doesn't admit it to himself, a new friend. They even start hanging out in between classes. It's safe--one of the perks of being the biggest and tallest in school is that nobody’s gonna say shit about who you choose to hang out with. It becomes a routine- Frank’s grades improve (and with it, his chances for graduating on time) and he and the Murdock boy spend more time out in that old shed, happily pummelling each other into oblivion. 

Matt is even laughing as Frankie brings him down to the matt, one arm hooked around his slender neck and their legs locked together. They’ve been doing this for weeks now and both of their styles have been improving. He flips Matt onto his back, pinning the smaller boy beneath his bulky, well-muscled frame. “Give!,” Frank gasps and it's nearly a plea, since the kid’s been working on him for well over two hours.

“You sound tired,” Matthew mocks, a shit-eating grin creeping its way across his face. “I’m wondering if maybe it's you who needs to surrender.”

Frank collects Matt’s wrists, hoisting his arms over his head and slamming them onto the aging padding for effect. He keeps the squirming boy’s delicate legs entwined with his, ensuring he remains caught. “Give!” He commands again, unable to hide an incredulous chuckle at Matt’s obstinance. 

They're both out of breath and panting as Frank waits for his response, feeling the way the boy’s hip bones for so perfectly between his legs. That damned familiar sensation piques again, growing an embarrassing bulge in his pants in response to the wriggling, writhing body beneath. Matt must feel it against him, too, because he still suddenly, his dark eyes fluttering upwards towards Frank. 

Frank’s face goes hot, but he can't quite bring himself to release his target. His grip on Matt’s wrists loosen as he stares down, lost in the chocolate pools staring back at him. “Erhm….sorry.”

Matt’s breath hitches, his delicate peach-colored mouth parts as a heavy pink rests on his cheeks. “Oh, uh... s’okay.”

Before Frank has time to think about what he's doing, he finds himself leaning down and kissing him. If he's being honest with himself, he doesn't have to think about it too much because he's already spent the last 2 weeks thinking about doing this. Finding the right moment.

Matt’s lips open with a swift gasp, but he doesn't fight back or try to pull away. His lips are impossibly soft and plump and perfect, and Frank devours them on the second try. It sends an electric current rocketing straight to his center, his dick twitching inside his camo pants, already eager for release.

It's in that moment that he feels Matt kissing him back, experimental, chaste little tastes. Frank’s brain throws itself into reverse and he quickly springs away, burying his face in one hand as he does his damndest to make it look like he's just smoothing his bangs away from his face. 

Matt scrambles to a seated position, his expression lost as he searches Frank’s face with those distant, sightless eyes. “S-sorry. I uh...are you okay?”

Frank snorts. What is the kid mean, is he okay? Frank is the one that started this, started all of it. The kid has gotten into his blood and is spreading through him like wildfire. “I gotta go,” he murmurs. It's the only explanation he gives as he scrambles up and out the door, his head spinning and his groin aching like he just got kicked in the balls. He hears Matt call after him but doesn't hear what, and it doesn't matter anyway. He's already in his truck and two miles down the road when the chill from the open window reminds him he left his hoodie. 

He takes a different way through the halls the next day, avoiding the red-auburn head that’s weaving through the crowd and threatening to catch up with him. His face is flush with embarrassment and shame. It wasn't fair to bring an innocent kid into his sick fantasies. Furthermore, Matt had kissed him back? But why? As if anyone in this right mind would ever want a throw-away like Frank. The conclusion is obvious---Frank is trash and Matt just doesn't get that. 

He even deals with his Dad that night, not daring to show his face at Matt’s house after what happened. He tries his best to keep his head down in his books, studying at the kitchen table while his Dad yells at him to get him another beer. As usual, his Dad has passed out in front of the TV by the time the twelfth can hits the floor. Frankie tries, he really does, but even with the soft buzz from a fuzzy 70s game show as the only noise, he can’t even read the words on the page. It seems impossible. 

The same story repeats itself into the weekend, with Frank doing anything from scrubbing floors to working out at the gym to keep his mind off the sweet-faced redhead. He always ends up haunting his dreams at night, just like he’s done for weeks, with Frank having to get himself off at least three times before the desperation subsides. Even then, the release is brief and unsatisfying. When the hot desire burns away, all it leaves is longing and guilt. 

He’s working on his truck in the driveway to their broken-down trailer when a car rolls in and a scrawny redhead slides out of the passenger side, Frank’s blue hoodie tucked under one arm. Frank’s heart leaps into his throat as the kid strolls up to where he is laid flat beneath his vehicle. Unable to escape, he rolls out from under it and stares up at the stiff-faced boy. The sweatshirt plops haphazardly to the ground beside his face. “You left this.”

Matt turns without waiting for a reply and Frank scrambles up, something in him telling him that he needs to make amends. If it’s not too late. And it might be. 

“Matt---” it’s the first time he recalls saying his name. He reaches for his tiny little wrist but Matt pulls back with a sharp hiss, his lips pursed. Frank’s stomach does backflips. “Look---I----” There is so much to say---so much Matt deserves to hear and none of it would make a damn bit of difference. Frank glances back at his beat-up Ford and a beam of hope hits him. “Wanna go for a ride?” 

Matt chews on his lip, fists balled before turning back and giving Frank a single, uncertain nod. 

They take the backroads. Places Matt’s Mom’s little nova couldn’t--the two tracks and the dusty roads, the ones with the best twists and turns. Frank had to promise Matt’s Mom he’d have him home by 10 before she’d hesitantly given her permission. Frank has been driving ever since he could reach the floor pedals. They drive with the windows down, and Matt doesn’t seem to be bothered by the branches that whip past. He’s got his arms out, his face stuck in the breeze, with the brightest smile Frank has ever seen on him as they wind along the paths. Frank swerves to avoid a rock, but doesn’t quite make it, and the resulting bump launches the kid nearly into his lap. They both laugh and sing along to the radio, and it’s as if nothing was ever wrong. 

After that, they pick back up where they left things, doing homework and sparring on school days and spending entire weekends together when possible. It’s not lost on Frank how odd it must seem to everyone around them--the dork and the bad-boy, never the two shall meet--but whether or not it makes sense to him, it just feels right. Things fall into place when they are together. 

Frank makes a silent promise that he’ll never again take advantage of the good-natured kid. Even if they are from completely opposite sides of the tracks, Frank wants to be around Matt for as long as he will let him. He’s not going to fuck this up, not again. But even if his intentions are the absolute essence of control and resolve, his cock still refuses to get the message and the night his unruly desire flares up again, Matt’s Mom is working late. 

Frank has introduced Matt to Bruce Lee films. Even though Matt cannot see the moves of the expert martial artist, Frank explains that they are very similar to Matt’s fighting techniques and the two of them brainstorm what moves to learn and perfect next. Tonight’s feature is Enter the Dragon. Matt’s fallen asleep at the best part, slumping against Frank’s shoulder and snoring softly.

He glances down at the fluffy auburn head making a pillow out of his arm, angling his face closer to slowly breathe in the scent of his shampoo--something with cucumber and watermelon---and daring to softly nuzzle Matt’s baby-fine hair. Frank's never done drugs, but for the first time in his life he's pretty sure he knows what it feels like. He's getting his first real “fix” after weeks of jonesing. 

Frank swallows sharply and dares to touch a feathery strand. It's delicate, just like Matt, and fiery too, like a rogue flame licking at Frank’s callused fingers. Matt moans, and Frank quickly withdraws his hand. 

He maneuvers his way out from underneath Matt’s sleeping form, somehow managing to successfully slip a couch cushion beneath him without Matt stirring a wink, and heads for the bathroom. 

Now, Frank puts on a good game and all, but he's never done something so salacious in all his life. His dick is throbbing and he’s still hot in the places of his body Matt was inadvertently touching. He doesn't want to think these dirty thoughts. Christ, he only kissed the guy once! There are so many “hell no” boxes to check but when it comes to Frank’s raging teenage boner, there's not a lot of convincing going on. 

Matt must have showered earlier. A small red t-shirt lays draped over the edge of the counter, and Frank grabs it without a second thought. He throws the toilet seat open and centers himself over it, all the while shoving the clean, soft material under his nose. His eyes flutter shut as he allows himself to daydream about what Matt must look like naked. That slender little body exposed to the warm cascade, his fingers strumming over his prominent ribs as he suds himself up. He flicks open the button of his fly with one thumb and plunges a hand between his legs, lifting his heavy, hardening shaft out of his pants and giving it a firm tug. He wonders if Matt’s thought about him like this, too. Maybe he's touched himself to the thought of Frank kissing him. Maybe he's put his back to the shower wall and grabbed himself mercilessly and pumped away until he came to the sound of Frank’s name on his lips. 

Frankie's had plenty of girls underneath him. It must be more complicated with guys--there are more parts and, he imagines, a bit of a struggle for the top position, but Frank knows what he wants. He wants Matt’s plump little ass kissing the air, his legs spread, laying flat on his belly and moaning beneath him. Frank wonders what a boy feels like--- if there’s a little more muscle, a little less fat, maybe some extra hair. 

One thing he knows for certain is that he must be beautiful. 

Frank shoves a fistful of Matt’s shirt into his mouth to muffle his cries as he mercilessly bares down on his throbbing cock. Just the mere thought of sinking his heavy shaft into Matt’s tight boy pussy is enough to send him over the edge. He groans through the Matt-scented material as his climax builds, making certain he’s aiming true when the fireworks scatter and hot white come spills out of his throbbing dick. He slows his rhythm as he rides the aftershocks, the sounds of his thick ejaculate hitting the water reminding him of the shameful act he just couldn't bring himself to resist. 

Frank cleans himself up, his heart still pounding in his chest as he returns to the couch. Matt is very much awake, looking like a lost cocker spaniel as he eyes Frank from the couch. “Where’d you go?” Frank feels a fresh wave of guilt punch through him. 

“Erhm…just had to use the bathroom,” he murmurs. 

Matt seems satisfied with that reply, even as he inquisitively sniffs the air and Frank can't help but wonder just what the sightless little miracle is sensing out. “Hmm...okay.”

Whatever Frank is feeling for his new and unexpected friend is neither healthy nor normal. He is sure of this. But oddly enough, it's the only thing in his entire world that feels *right*.  
He wonders if Matt feels the same. 

When he sits back down on the couch, couch cushion now placed protectively between them, he tries to push down the nagging guilt. Something must be wrong---the iron-hot desire has burned out of his veins and his limbs feel like jelly, but his heart is still up in his throat.

Matt gestures towards the TV. “Did we miss anything good?”

Bruce Lee is squaring off with the guy in the yellow gi, flashing his signature beckoning move. 

“I’ll rewind it,” Frank offers, picking up the remote. 

Matt snickers. “You can't rewind a DVD.”

“C’mon, you know what I'm saying. I'll go back to where we left off. Before you fell asleep.”

Matt hesitates at this, a sheepish grin crossing his face. “Oh. Yeah.”

Frank feels the heat rush to his face as it dawns on him. The little shit wasn't sleeping at all! But then why was he lying slumped onto Frank’s shoulder? Why did he let Frank touch his hair? What does he think Frank left for, when he went to the bathroom ..?

As if Matt is reading his thoughts, he tugs away the pillow wedged between them and searches for Frank’s hand. He gently brushes his delicate white fingers over Frank’s broken knuckles and traces his veins before fully covering Frank’s hand with his warm little palm. 

Frank freezes. 

“I…” Matt begins, licking his lips nervously. “I like you, too.”

The statement his him like a freight train. His first reaction is rage---how dare the little punk trick him!!!??? It's replaced almost instantly with a flutter of excitement and just a tiny bit of relief. 

Just like that first day in the garage, Frank finds himself leaning in before he can think better of it, crushing his mouth against Matt’s open one, gathering his face in one hand and lavishing his feathery hair. Matt doesn't resist. He bumps himself a little closer to Frank, leaving only a sliver of space between them as he slowly, experimentally starts kissing back.  
Frank doesn't know where it will go from here. He isn't really sure where he wants to go, or where Matt wants to go. But somehow in this perfect moment none of that matters. Gone is the worry that Matt might reject him, replaced solely with an exquisite burn that encompasses his entire being. 

Frank allows his eyes to slide shut, parting their roving lips to press his forehead against Matt’s. Before he even knows what he is saying, Frank mutters, “So beautiful.”

Matt sniffs out a laugh. “Never been called that before.”

There's no use denying it. “S’true.”

Matt shifts a bit closer, coyly exploring the sleeve of Frank's hoodie, creeping slowly up to his chest.

Frank might just pass out from the feeling. 

“I'm glad you think so,” comes the soft reply.

________________________________________________

 

Two weeks later...

Matt’s pencil clatters to the floor, followed by a sharp gasp as Frank bites his earlobe. They should be studying for finals, but all Frank can think about is how good Matt looks in Frank’s hoodie. He skirts his hand up underneath it, his hand jutting across Matt’s prominent ribs. He's practically swimming in the damn thing. Frank is easily twice his size. 

Matt’s mouth drops open with a whimper as he clutches the text book like holding on for dear life. “F-Frank…we should be studying.”

“Then keep going,” Frank urges, nuzzling the baby-soft skin beneath Matt’s ear. He nips at it, tasting the sea-salt from their adventure by the bay an hour earlier. (Now he knows why they sprinkle the stuff on caramel.) 

“Mmng…” Matt’s fingers fumble along the Braille. Frank can't read it, but it's the same thing as his book, not that he's really that interested in what it has to say. He finds where he left off, licking his lips as if to sturdy himself before continuing. “A covalent bond, also called a molecular bond, is a chemical bond that involves the sharing of electron pairs between atoms…”

“Interesting,” Frank breathes, rounding the ellipse of Matt’s ear with his tongue. His roaming fingers find the flat plane of his chest and the lovely nipples gracing them. They've done this a few times before, and Matt's body responds immediately to the touch. His breath quickening, he shivers beneath the bulky material as Frank gathers a growing bud and playfully pinches. 

“Mmn! F-Frank--!” Matt jerks his head away as the pink rises to his cheeks. Frank watches his every move, drinking it all in like a starved coyote and planting a deep kiss to Matt’s neck. 

“C’mon, Matt,” his boyfriend teases. “We’re sposed to be studying here.”

As Frank switches to the other nipple, Matt bites his lip and stiffens in his chair as he tries his best to keep reading. “These electron pairs are known as shared pairs or bonding pairs, and the attractive forces between atoms is…” 

“Sounds tight,” Frank purrs, pulling Matt dangerously close to his lap.

Matt giggles, playfully pushing back. “What's wrong with you!? Are you on drugs?!”

“Aww that's hurtful,” Frank chides, mercilessly clamping down on the solid, fleshy peak. Matt squeals, nearly flying out if his seat. “Now what should I do to you as punishment?”

“Frank...please, we need to be…”

“MMMMNNNnnn can't help it,” he growls, attacking Matt’s neck. He'd give him a hickey if Matt wouldn't kill him for it. “I want you, baby. Fuck, do I want you.”

He wonders what those stiff little tits would taste like, and his mouth begins watering at the mere thought. 

“Two more years,” Matt states, as if it's painful.

Frank groans. “Two more years and I'll be nineteen. You'll still be out of my reach.”

Matt sighs. “So, for us it's four then. The laws are so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Frank murmurs. “I know.” Reluctantly, he slides his hand out from Matt’s(/his) hoodie, regret biting at his gut. He still hasn't had the heart to tell Matt it might be even longer than that---Frank’s enlisting. In two months, just a few weeks after graduation, he’ll be on a bus to boot camp. From there...who knows. 

The bleakness of their future as a pair has completely killed the mood. Frank adjusts his textbook, actually bothering to stare down at it for the first time since they got back from swimming. He slips his arm around Matt’s waist, pulling him.closer gently and placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Okay, so where'd we leave off?”

“Let me rewind,” Matt says with a devilish grin. 

Frank laughs and chucks him playfully under the chin.

_________________________________________________

Matt is the only reason Frank gets to cross the stage to receive his diploma. Given his bad reputation and history of violence, the principal would have mailed it to him and barred him from the celebration, not that Frank really gives a rat’s ass. Matt is in the crowd, and that is the only reason he’s up here, to show Matt the fruit of his efforts. 

He'd finally managed to tell Matt about the Marines a few days prior. It seems, when you're young, major changes like that are just expected. Matt didn't put up a fuss, in fact he accepted it with grace and dignity and with one request: that Frank call him at least every week. 

Of course, time and miles separate even the closest of friends. Over the course of a year, they’d go from making out over the phone to barely speaking. Reception in Afghanistan is spotty at best. Frank carries Matt’s picture in his pack. he promises to himself into the picture that no matter how many years pass.in between, he will see him again. 

After all, he owes so much to the little redhead with the wicked right hook.


End file.
